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My memoirs of Katy. Katy and I used to go on long walks together. I'd let her go wherever she wanted, following her through the neighborhood, and we'd stay out for hours. She'd find little bones or bits of something and bring them back home. That was always the signal for the end of a walk: when she'd find a treasure and start trotting briskly back to her den. When she'd break into a run on her walks, I'd run after her so her leash would never catch her neck, and she would have as much freedom as she would have being off the lead. Even though Katy was quick, she never ran faster than I could; either her top speed wasn't too high over grass that was about as long as her legs, or she knew I needed to keep up. I'd get a lot of exercise on these Katy-lead walks-bordering-on-runs through the neighborhood, ambling behind houses, through playgrounds, and across basketball courts. Katy had a knack for finding and doing the most disgusting things imaginable on these long walks. Being a Dachshund, her nose is very low to the ground, and she'd frequently find dead things or bits of discarded food to commune with. One instance I remember particularly clearly was her rolling in dead frog, after picking up the aged carcass that had been reduced to not much more than a frog-skin in her mouth and arranging it just-so on the grass. If she'd ever stop near a pile of leaves and bury her nose in them for an inordinately long time, I could guess that she'd found some rare, sinful treat, and was partaking. Often I couldn't identify the treat even upon close examination, which was probably for the best. Sometimes, we'd walk all the way to the state park, and enter through a somewhat hidden entrance. I remember one day I took her there, where some residential property segued into the state park, and we didn't even use the trail, but instead climbed up hills and embankments, over logs and branches and through snow drifts, meeting up with the path a good while later. She bounded exuberantly through the snow, and her black, sausage body was covered in a dusting of it. We really enjoyed that day. When I'd walk her around the lake in the state park, we'd sometimes stop momentarily because I could tell she was getting tired (it was a long way for a miniature dachshund to go). I'd sit down on the trail, looking over the lake, and she'd climb into my lap for a few minutes to kiss my face and snuggle until she was ready to start back on the path. Some days, I'd take her for two or three really long walks, and she never seemed to get tired. Katy didn't eat very much nor did she exhibit a typical canine lust for food, but she nevertheless carried a boundless supply of energy. She and I used to play tug-o-war. She and I would both grab a stuffed animal, and I could pick the front end of her body up off the ground with the animal locked in her jaws. When I put my ear close to her, I could hear her play-growling, muffled by the animal in her mouth. It was fun to squish her nose around while she battled and make light of her titanic struggle. Katy loved her toys. She would get new toys seemingly every week, and she would always go crazy over them. Often, she destroyed them within minutes of getting them. It wasn't as though she inadvertently did so in the course of play -- she would deliberately and methodically set out to dismantle her toys; chewing the eyes off of stuffed animals, or biting the feet off of rubber hedgehogs. She would play fetch tirelessly, and was the fastest dog I've ever seen. I remember taking her to a puppy class -- no other dog could catch her during play time. It was especially strange because she was a 7-pound miniature dachshund puppy with 3-inch legs, and yet she was faster than any of her larger, longer-legged peers. Her favorite game, preferred over tug-o-war and fetch, was run-away-from-the-person. I did manage to catch her a few times, but that was only when I'd use my long arms and legs to my advantage, sort of enveloping a large area of ground like a spider, or cornering her under the computer chair. she'd run away from me, and in her running she'd often grab the nearest toy, as though she was rescuing it along with herself. However, she couldn't run quite as fast while holding a toy, so if I got close to catching her she'd sacrifice the toy and save herself. She was never very much into food; even if you had a plate of something next to her face, she'd rather be petted than fed. She got sick sort of suddenly, it seemed. One day she brought home a bone from her walk and chewed it to pieces, and didn't feel well afterwards. I figured it was a case of upset stomach that would pass, but she got sicker and sicker from that day, and didn't want to go on walks, play, or do any of the rough-and-tumble things that Katy and I used to enjoy. She became, over about a two-week period, like an elderly little dog, sweet and cuddly, but not wanting to do the kinds of active things I came to know her for, and love her for. Katy was a little bit shy of one-and-a-half years old when she fell ill. She was taken to the vet after a week or so of being listless, vomiting, and having diarrhea, and was diagnosed after a blood test with AIHA, a congenital, disorder of the immune system and blood in which the dog's white cells destroy too many of its red cells. The vet sent her home with some immune-suppressant pills, but today, her shit was probably 70% blood, and we took her back to the vet, who found her red cell and platelet count to be even lower than before. She's there now, getting a blood transfusion. I wouldn't be terribly surprised if she didn't make it through the night; the first episode of AIHA is always the most dangerous. I want my dog back, the one who went on long walks with me, and who licked my face when I sat down with her on the trail around the lake. She's like an older dog now -- susceptible to internal bleeding because of her low platelet count, constantly gasping for breath because of her diminished red cells, and having almost no energy at all, not even enough to climb the stairs. She had just gone through her second heat when she succumbed -- she was barely a grown-up dog. I know Katy's not dead, but I can't help but talk about her in the past tense, because in a way she is dead to me. I have to face the knowledge that her life is going to be reduced in both its quality and length. I'll cuddle her and give her pats and carry her around, now that that's all she'll want to do, and I'll re-develop a relationship with this new Katy, but I can't help but miss my dog. Her condition on a steep downslide Katy is getting another blood transfusion tomorrow, and a bone marrow biopsy. It's not fair that such a tiny, sweet little dog has to go through all of that. I'm not 100% sure it's necessary, either; no matter what the outcome of the tests are, the practical result won't be too different -- she'll come home, and either take medicine that isn't working, or not take medicine because now it 'officially' doesn't work. The marrow biopsy (ouch) is to make sure that she's actually producing red cells to begin with. If she's not, then it's pointless to give her immune-suppressant drugs, because the issue isn't her white cell improperly functioning, but her bone marrow. At that point, there'd literally be nothing we could do. But she's quite happy and spunky, even though she's in dreadful health on paper. I wish I could be with her all day tomorrow; she'll come home some time in the evening, after spending all day at the vet. I'm always afraid that every time we leave her at the vet, it's going to be the last time I see her. Katy was put to sleep Katy is gone; my mom and I had her put to sleep early this afternoon. Her condition got very rapidly worse in the last 24 hours. She was vomiting every few minutes, shitting blood, and wandered around aimlessly and with a crippled, painful gate, not even being comfortable enough to lie down. Every so often, she'd shiver for no reason (I think she might have been in pain), and I think her internal organs were simply shutting down; AIHA can be a nasty way to go. So, I'm glad we did it -- she was clearly an unhappy puppy. But I miss my little hound; her toys are still scattered around the living room. A revised diagnosis The vet just called. It turns out Katy had cancer. We put her to sleep before we could get the results back from the lab. But this doesn't really change anything; she was deathly ill and wouldn't have gotten any better, regardless of whether her diagnosis was AIHA or lymphoma. Even if she'd lived long enough for her to start chemotherapy (it's doubtful that she would have), it wouldn't have done any good, since her cancer was incredibly fast and aggressive as well as at an advanced stage, as the vet explained it. The lab told him that Katy had almost no healthy bone marrow cells left -- they had all been replaced by cancer cells. So killing them off with chemotherapy wouldn't give healthy cells a chance to re-grow, since there weren't any around. I was worried for a little while that we put her to sleep when she could have in fact been treated for cancer, but from what I understand it wasn't a treatable cancer; treatment wouldn't have prolonged her life or eased her suffering. The vet also mentioned that one of the drugs we were giving her when we thought she had AIHA was in fact chemotherapy. I can't help but wonder if the vet is telling me a lie or omitting facts to help assuage my guilt over putting Katy to sleep, and maybe chemotherapy would have helped if we hadn't put Katy down before the results of her bone marrow biopsy arrived. I wonder if the medicine we were giving her for AIHA was what was making her feel so awful, and if it'd have been discontinued if she'd be able to live a while longer, maybe even long enough to start chemotherapy and enter a remission. We made a decision based on how Katy was feeling, and an intuitive sense that she wasn't going to get any better. I hope this was the right thing to do. Would she have gotten better? I was not willing to sacrifice her happiness for waiting for a day that likely would never come. Was this just a bad episode? No, she'd gotten steadily worse for the past two weeks. Even if this was a particularly bad episode that would have subsided to some small degree, there would have been many more episodes like it, increasing in number and severity. How soon would the cancer have killed her? She probably would have died within days, and her life during those days would be torturous. How effective would chemotherapy have been, and how sick would it have made her? Not at all, since her cancer was so advanced, and it would have made her a lot sicker. I still thinking putting her down was the right thing to do, but I can't help but ask and wonder about these questions. First letter of support I was just looking at the Katy tribute page and thought I'd say a few words: I only got to meet Katy on a handful of occasions so I feel like I hardly got a chance to know her. I'm sad that I won't ever get the chance to know her better. Her passing was so sudden, unexpected, and unfair it doesn't even seem "real" to me yet. Intellectually, I know it's true, but it's still just words in a window on my computer. I have a feeling it won't seem emotionally real until I'd visit your place and there's no 7 pound bundle of enthusiasm barking excitedly or running up and down the stairs just to prove she could (she was rightly proud because that's no small feat for a creature with 3 inch legs!). It's very very sad and I'll miss her. My Mom's memoirs of Katy Katy was the softest little dog you could ever imagine. She was like a long little flop of pure velvet. Seen from the back, trotting along, ears held up perkily and flapping, some important project in mind, she was so unbearably cute and funny that you had to laugh. I always thought that New Orleans Preservation Hall Band-type music suited her best -- so dancy and quick and incurably optimistic. Her hobbies were: bathing people, chewing objects (especially forbidden ones, like _The Power of Now_, a book on meditation practices), taking walks, playing fetch, playing tag, playing tug of war, and playing 'school' , which involved following commands like 'sit' 'down' 'heel' and 'stay' -- and then getting little cheese treats. She was very fond of any type of 'hustle and bustle' -- packing suitcases, decorating Christmas trees, cleaning projects, cooking projects -- she found it all immensely interesting. She always smelled sweet. I especially delighted in her little paws and ankles -- which were both sturdy and soft, little Clydesdale-type appendages that turned floppy, when she was relaxed. They were the color of gingerbread, always gleaming and smooth . She liked to have them stroked, and never minded when you played with her feet. She was the only dog I ever knew who seemed to have something like opposable thumbs -- when she held onto a stick of rawhide, she would position it between her 'thumbs' and fingers so as to get a better grip. She liked to be combed and brushed -- up to a point. Tangles in her ears were MJT's specialty -- he could comb them out without causing her any discomfort, but I wasn't that good at it. Katy loved tummy rubs and ear scratches. And she liked to have you stroke her face with your finger and talk to her -- if she was nervous about something, that would calm her down. When I lay down for a nap, she would hop up on top of me, climb up near my shoulder, and settle down with her face touching mine. Or else she might rest her head on top of my hand -- or at the very least, snuggle in around my feet or behind my knees. When I held her, she would look up at me, just to make sure I was still there. She was a loving little creature -- everyone who got to know her commented on that, including the vet techs who handled her near the end of her life. One of them, Paula, said, 'She just likes to get right up in your face to cuddle...she's a special little puppy.' Other techs told us how Katy would bestow her puppy kisses on them, even when she was being tormented with thermometers and needle sticks. The head tech, who called Katy 'Honey Bear' said 'It is going to take us all a while to get over this. Katy, you are breaking all our hearts.' Katy was my dog, and she was MJT's dog. She seemed to know that I was her Mom, and that MJT was her best friend. After a few months with us, I noticed that she was starting to follow me pretty much wherever I went. When I went downstairs, she would get to the landing, look back, and wait for me to catch up, then continue down. When I went to the bathroom, she waited outside. Sometimes, she would nudge open the bathroom door just to make sure everything was proceeding properly inside. When I went to the kitchen, she would follow me there. At night, when I went to bed, she would wait until she heard me getting into bed, then come up and settle down on the bed next to me. If it was really cold, she would climb under the covers -- otherwise, she would find a good place in the crook of my knee. But when MJT came into the room, she would wag her tail furiously and run over to him, trying to entice him to play, doing the submissive posture thing and barking encouragement. She would play tag with him, cornering around the coffee table and darting under the couch -- making the most of her natural Dachshund advantages. I remember one day, after a long Katy-MJT walk, MJT had to leave for some reason. Katy stood by the front hall railing making sad little 'whale song' noises, clearly communicating that the only thing she wanted at that point was for MJT to come back and take her for another walk. Nothing I could offer her -- dingo sticks, little bits of cheese, tummy rubs, fetch-it games with her beloved rubber hamburger toy -- could distract her. It was about an hour before she gave up and decided she would have to settle for a Hop-On-Mom and Chew-the-Rawhide session. I think Katy loved me. At least, what else could you call it? She comforted me when I was lonely or depressed or discouraged. She was always there, always affectionate. Even in the vet's office, when I was holding her and crying, she turned her face upward and licked my chin. As if she wanted to help. A letter from our vet Thank you so much for emailing us. When I see the love and caring that our clients give to their pets it warms my heart. Cady truly was a member of the family, and I am honored that you entrusted her care to us. Thank you for reminding me why all the hard work, 8 years in college and the day in/day out of veterinary medicine is so worth it. Katy's medical history We took Katy to the vet shortly after Christmas because she was acting listless and had diarrhea and some vomiting. Although the vet did not at first suspect anything serious, he did a blood count just as a precaution, and found that Katy was severely anemic and that her platelet count was also very low. He gave her an initial diagnosis of Autoimmune Mediated Hemolytic Anemia -- a condition that can often be treated with steroids and even transfusions, if necessary. So that was the treatment we gave her: She was put on Prednisone, Baytril, Doxycycline, Azathioprine, and Vincristine, as well as Flagil and Tylin (for diarrhea) and Pepcid AC (for stomach upset). Alarmingly, though, her blood count and platelet count did not improve but kept getting lower. Eventually, over a period of several days, she received three transfusions: 2 full blood and one plasma. Her red blood count improved for a few hours after the first transfusion, but the platelet count did not respond, and the red cell count rapidly descended into dangerous levels again. Finally, the vet recommended a bone marrow biopsy to see if we could see why she was not responding to therapy. We okayed this, even though we felt there was only the remotest chance that it would really help Katy in any practical way. We took Katy home after the test, hoping to have at least a few days of happy interaction with her. However, from this time on, it became apparent that she was truly suffering. She began vomiting constantly, refused to eat, and was straining to pass stools that were almost pure blood. She was shuddering, either with pain or nausea, and could not get comfortable or even sleep for very long. She was unresponsive except for an occasional wag. This went on all night and the next day. It was at this point that we decided that things were starting to look hopeless and that we could not bear to see her suffer this way any longer, so we had her put to sleep at 12:30 on January 22, 2004. That evening, we finally received the results of the bone marrow test, which proved that her anemia was in fact caused by cancer (lymphoma) which had taken over her bone marrow. Once cancer has reached this anemia-producing stage ("Stage V") there is little that can be done; chemotherapy is not an option. In a way, this makes us feel better about having put her to sleep -- since we had no sign that she was ill until it was too late, there was nothing we could have done for her other than to relieve her suffering. Second letter of support Katy was my little niece/pup. She was the ultimate in good puppies. She always Third letter of support I was so sorry to hear about Katy. I didn't even know that she was ill. It must have been very difficult watching her slowly decline after you initially took her to the vet. Although the decision to have her put to sleep must have been very difficult, it would seem even more difficult to watch her "live" in the condition that she was in. I think that you clearly made the only humane decision that you could make. I really like the tribute that you made for her. Your dad will return home from Mankato late Tuesday evening and will be able to see it. My deepest regrets A sympathy card from our vet We are so sorry for your loss of Katie. It is always difficult, but even more tragic when they are so young. She was a sweet, wonderful little girl and she was blessed to have had you for her family while she was here. You did everything you could for her, and now she is at peace. If there is anything we can do, please let us know. A Prayer Dear God, if You could only spare the time - Author unknown Fourth letter of support MJT - I'm very sorry to hear about Katy. When looking at the pictures of her, I think about the joy and love that dogs bring to our lives, and how painful their passing can be. Most people who haven't had animals don't really understand how the death of an animal can be so painful, including some in our extended family who haven't had the pleasure of having an animal in their lives. I hope you are able to get the comfort you need during this time. As an animal lover who has lost several animals, I wanted to express my sincere condolences. Katy seemed to have an awesome life with you and your mom - she was lucky to have you guys, if only for the short time she did. Katy can never be "replaced" as some insensitive people might say, but she can always be remembered. It's tough to lose a great friend. Let me know if you need anything. Fifth letter of support MJT, oh, I am so sorry. How are you doing? I am so sorry for Katy and for you and your mom. I know she meant so much to you and brought such joy. The poor little girl. But it sounds like you did the right thing for her and now she isn't suffering. Even though you knew it was the right thing to do I am sure it was a hard decision. OH, I am so sorry. Your dedicated site to Katy is beautiful. The pictures really show what an adorable little puppy she was. And your writing along with knowing how you lit up when talking about her truly reflects your genuine affection towards her. She was so lucky to have you as her daddy - she really was. You can take comfort in knowing you gave her a great life with lots of love. That's all she wanted and needed........ If there is anything I can do, please let me know. Even if it's just listening. My ears are always open. Sixth letter of support I am so sorry to hear of the death of your most beloved Katy. The memory page devoted to her is very nice. I have a long hair dachshund cross who looks a great deal like your Katy. Thank you very much for the link you put on your links page to the Meisha's Hope website. That link is greatly appreciated. I wish you healing in your life from the loss of your dear Katy. Thank you again for the link on your website. Sympathy card We were so shocked and saddened to hear of your loss of Katy. Please accept our condolences. Pets Love us Another sympathy card Katy wasn't just a pet, she was much more. A friend, a confidante, a loving presence with a heart much larger than her small body. The loss of a pet isn't easy... One more sympathy card We're so sorry about Katy. We know she meant a lot to you and provided you with much happiness. You were so good to her and gave her a happy life. If we can do anythng for you, please let us know. Our ears are always open for you. Pets Love us Seventh letter of support Your father shared your website with me yesterday re: Katie. I am very sorry for your loss. My two cats, Yoda and Morris are very active and mischevious. If you visit them you will never be lonely! Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you. Do you like husky dogs? I have a picture of Balto the lead sled dog in Nome, Alaska at my desk. I really enjoyed seeing him three years ago when he was on display at the Library. BBS post of support i'm truly sorry to hear about Katy. losing pets is tough. sounds like she had a loving home, which i'm sure she'll remember always... A new sympathy card I want you to know I am thinking of you and understand your grief. I cried for months after we had our cat of 17 years put to sleep after many tests. You did everything you could for your beloved Katy. She had a lot of love in her short life. I loved the picture of her on your chest on the sofa. It was so sweet -- just remember the good times with her. |